Dear Journal
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn has to keep a journal for the SBPD to stay on the payroll.
1. Chapter 1

**August 1**

Hiya, Kelly.

Look, this isn't my idea. The SBPD shrink is making me keep a journal to stay on the police payroll…something about "documenting my emotional stability" for insurance reasons. How messed up is that? Seriously. Who's more emotionally stable than a psychic?

Anyway, since I have to write everyday, and I'm sure as hell not going to say "Dear Journal", I figured if I just pretend you're a woman….I'm thinking blonde with an IQ somewhere between beets and pineapples…I won't feel like Doogie Howser.

So far, it's not working.

Maybe if I bought you a drink…

Okay, what am I supposed to say now, Doc? Want me to tell you where the bodies are buried? (That's a joke, relax).

Guess I'll be back tomorrow.

-Shawn

**August 2**

I asked today. Apparently, one entry doesn't constituent conclusive proof of emotional stability.

Damn.

Maybe tomorrow…

Just to be safe, I better start covering everything.

Emotional Depth: To be, or not to be…actually, I think it's Room 4C.

Sincere Effort At Self-Reflection: I really like pizza.

Childhood Traumas: My parents are divorced and my father is a former cop. I think that qualifies me for a lifetime of therapy right there.

Umm….not that I need it….I'm a well-adjusted member of society with no repressed anger towards my father at all.

Damnit! Why'd I write in pen? Now I can't erase it!

-Shawn

**August 3**

Since Gus won't write even one entry for me, I guess I'm stuck doing it.

Sometimes I wonder why I let him tag along. Clearly, he's the Zeppo to my Chico.

And I think we all know who the Grouch-o is. Yeah, you heard me, Lassie! Don't deny it! You know you're reading this!

By the way, I'm the one who stole your bagel last week.

And I'm the one who told the Chief you didn't want a raise because the work was its own reward.

Oh, and that wasn't blood on your bullet proof vest. I may have used it as protection in a paintball war with Gus…

Long story.

Umm…on second thought, you probably shouldn't read this, Lassie. It might make that vein in your forehead explode, and that would just be tragic.

-Shawn.

**August 4**

Did you know that if you stare as Lassie long enough (don't say anything, just stare…) he'll turn four different shades of purple before he finally snaps and threatens to staple your entrails to his desk? Try it sometime. It's fun.

Did you know that if you really want to piss off my dad, all you have to do is take the batteries from his remote and use them in your PSP?

Anyway, that was my day.

What did you do?

**August 5**

As much as I've tried to avoid this, I can't anymore.

Something…actually kinda happened today. So…I guess…

Dear Journal:

It wasn't a big deal or anything…I just forgot something.

Okay, I didn't forget it. It's even worse than that.

I didn't see it.

How could I not see it? I mean it was staring me right in the face! Gus saw it first. Heck, even Lassie saw it before I did.

That damn Waldo! Where WAS he?!

**August 6**

Garbage Can Basketball Score:

Me: 734 Gus: 0

Of course, if you ask him, you'll get a different score. But mine's written down, so it must be true.

**August 7**

Am I slipping?

The other day, it was Waldo. Today, I missed something else.

I guess it wasn't any big deal, but I'm starting to get irritated.

I wouldn't care if my dad hadn't been there. But of course he was. And of course he knew I messed up. He always knows when I mess up.

It was a stupid thing. I got the wrong change back at the store. It was just off by a penny, but I didn't notice. I wasn't thinking, I didn't care. I wouldn't have noticed if Dad hadn't said something.

"That's just basic math, Shawn. One dime and two pennies is only twelve cents, not thirteen."

And of course he wouldn't let it drop.

One more day like this, and I may have to get out of the psychic game.

What kind of psychic can't find Waldo and gets the wrong change?

**August 8**

So, the record is up to five shades of red on Lassie's face. And all it took was a whoopee cushion! Who knew?

Of course, he threatened me with bodily harm…but I think he's bluffing. Besides, I'm pretty sure using my eyes as golf balls would violate some sort of golf course etiquette. If there's one thing Lassie would never violate, it's golf course etiquette.

Jules thought it was funny, at least. I love watching her laugh. And I never really noticed it before, but she looks awfully good in pink…

Ooops, sorry, Kelly. I probably shouldn't talk about other women in front of you. Don't be all jealous, though. Me and Jules are just friends.

**August 9**

I finally got a new case today, after about ten years of waiting. It's a good one, too. A grizzly murder.

Fun Fact: "A grizzly murder" doesn't mean the victim was killed by a grizzly bear. You learn something new everyday, don't you?

**August 10**

What's going on?

Seriously, I'm starting to freak out.

I know I'm not paranoid now. Even Gus asked me if I was okay. He didn't want to come right out and say it, but I could see it in his eyes. He thinks I've lost it, too.

Maybe I have.

We were at the crime scene for hours today, and I just couldn't see anything. I mean, I saw stuff…blood, fibers, the usual…but I didn't _see_ anything. I stared at a broken lamp for a full twenty minutes and…nothing. I knew it meant something…I knew it was important…but I didn't know why.

Maybe Dad got in my head.

**August 11**

Gus was wearing a blue shirt today.

Jules was wearing yellow.

Lassie was wearing…a scowl.

There. I remembered. I'm not slipping. I'm okay.

Right?

**August 12**

I punched a window and got five stitches in my hand.

Long story.

Short version: I asked for no pickles.

**August 13**

The Chief wanted some sort of psychic vision on the murder case. I couldn't give her one. Not even a vague, fill-in-the-blanks the-person's-name-starts-with-an-M-or-maybe-that's-a-T routine. I had nothing.

She told me I had 24 hours or I'm off the case.

Gus went back to his day job.

What the hell is going on?

On the bright side, Jules was wearing pink again.

**August 14**

Officially, I'm off the case.

Unofficially, there's no way in hell I'm off this case.

If you think Lassie's a pain in the ass on a good day (and who doesn't?) you should see him when he thinks he's won. He's been grinning like a demented leprechaun for two days. Of course, I'm gonna beat him. I don't know how…but I will. I already have an undercover operative in the Department helping me. To protect her identity, I'll just call her Agent Ules-jay.

Make that Ent-Gay Ules-Jay!

I've already uncovered some new information.

Apparently, there wasn't a grizzly murder.

It was a grisly one.

This changes everything!

**August 15**

Since I'm sort of not welcome at the Department right now, I can't be sure…but rumor has it Lassie may have had twenty-seven pizzas delivered to his desk today.

Twenty-seven pizzas, and one Hug-O-Gram.

God bless cell phone cameras.

And God Bless Ent-Gay Ules-Jay for knowing how to use one.

**August 16**

Not even the picture of Lassie being hugged by a giant teddy bear could cheer me up today. I spent all night looking over the case again… and nothing. Still nothing. Not even a glimmer.

Though, judging from the picture, I finally found a way to reach the illusive sixth shade of red on Lassie's face. So that's something.

I really should have tipped that teddy bear.

**August 17**

So this is what desperate feels like. I always thought it would be more…moist. But, no. This is it. At least, I hope this is it. I mean, it can't get any worse.

**August 18**

Okay. It got worse.

I went to talk to my dad.

He was helpful, as always. I got the full Henry Medley this time. Two choruses of "You're a lazy ass, Shawn" followed by a striking new rendition of "Pull Yourself up By the Bootstraps, Boy" and even a quick segue into the "You're a Huge Disappointment" finale.

Really, Dad. You shouldn't have pulled out all the stops for me.

Of course, there was pie.

Just not for me.

The pie was for winners.

I did get to look on in envy, though.

Talk about someone who needs a Hug-o-Gram delivery.

**August 19**

I didn't leave the apartment today.

I didn't even get out of bed.

The phone rang twice. The bell rang once.

What do you wanna bet neither of them was my dad?

**August 20**

I can't go to Psych.

I can't answer my phone.

I can't even leave my apartment (not that I particularly want to).

I'm officially being stalked.

Okay, I'm being stalked by Gus. But still. It's the principle of the thing. Stalking is stalking, even if it's your best friend.

He's relentless; like a pitbull with an annoyingly expansive vocabulary. I guess Dad called him after our…whatever the hell you call it when your dad eats pie in front of you. "Visit" doesn't quite capture the emotional devastation. "Seventh Circle of Hell" is a bit closer….

Anyway, he's been calling all day. He even stopped by, but I didn't let him in. I didn't even acknowledge him.

Jules came by, too. I didn't let her in, either, but she got closer than Gus. She had something he didn't.

Pizza and Death Wish 4.

**August 21**

Okay, so I cracked.

I finally let Jules in. I could resist pizza. I could resist Death Wish 4. But today she had Chinese and Messenger of Death. I'm only human!

I have to admit, she actually made me feel a little better about being a complete and utter failure at life.

**August 22**

Shhh. Jules is sleeping. It's about 3 am, and she's curled up on the couch. So we have to be quiet, Kelly. Okay?

I don't know why she's still here, exactly. Once I let her in, she just refused to leave unless I went with her.

"Shawn, if I walk out that door without you, you'll lock it behind me and never open it again. You'll become some kind of crazy cat man the neighborhood kids tell stories about. I can't let that happen. Your hair is too good for that! Look at it! Body, volume…and you don't even condition!"

I'm not sure what all of that meant…but who said I even wanted her to leave in the first place? Her threat to stay until I left was actually a pretty good incentive to stay put.

But don't tell her that. She thinks she's helping.

She snores, it turns out. Not loudly. It's more like sighing.

It's kind of cute, actually.

God, I'm pathetic.

**August 23**

I decided to cut Jules a break. She tried so hard.

I even went to see Gus.

He said I look like Hell, which is a coincidence because I feel like Hell.

We're officially unofficially back on the case, for all the good it'll do. Jules let us back into the crime scene. She distracted Lassie with a shiny new pair of handcuffs while we snuck in.

I was still staring at that broken vase.

What the hell is it about that vase?

It seems so straight forward. The Spanenbergs came home, interrupted a burglar, and both got stabbed to death. Over fifty slashes on each body. There were defensive wounds on their hands and arms. There are skin and blood under their nails, but they don't match anything in the DNA database.

What am I missing?

**August 24**

Umm…Doc? If I went to see you today, and you're the one whose reading this for the insurance people, do I still have to write about it?

I do?

Fine! Then, frankly, I found your bedside manner to be cold and somewhat aloof.

Yes, it's true, Kelly. I went to see the SBPD shrink today. That should tell you how close to the edge I am.

I actually wore a trench coat and dark glasses so no one would see me. Of course, it was 94 degrees…

Do you have any idea what my dad would do if he found out I went to therapy?

Let's just say pie would be out of the picture for…eternity.

Hell, he'd probably put me up for adoption.

Who's going to adopt a 29 year old broken psychic detective?

No. Really. I'm asking. Anyone come to mind?

**August 25**

One more question, Doc. When you suggest someone comes to see you five times a week, that means they're so emotionally stable that you want to see them as often as possible, right? Sort of like a break from all the real crazies?

God, I hope that's the case.

See you tomorrow.

**August 26**

I can't believe I've actually seen a shrink three days in a row! My dad would flip.

"Shawn, shrinks are for lowlifes and people with more money than actual problems. What the hell do you have to complain to a shrink about, anyway? Any problem you've ever had has been your own making, Kid."

I went with Groucho glasses and fez as a disguise this time, just in case someone saw me.

The worst part is...I actually feel a bit better about life. And I haven't even gotten to blaming my dad for everything yet! Though I'm sure that's coming soon...

At least, I don't hate myself quite as much. I still can't think for beans…but somehow, I'm starting to be okay with that.

**August 27**

Ah, Saturday….

Actually, when you don't currently have a job, it doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of difference when it's the weekend.

Jules came by again tonight with some more movies. She thought she was cheering me up, so I didn't want to disappoint her by telling her that I actually feel fine now. For the most part.

Gus came by, too. Fortunately, I disconnected my doorbell, so I could pretend I didn't know he was there.

It was a bit hard to ignore the pounding on the door and the yelling, but I managed.

Jules, God bless her, played right along.

All in all, a good day.

**August 28**

For the second day in a row, Jules has dropped in unannounced. Today, she decided we should go out for dinner instead of "wasting all night watching stupid movies."

I didn't feel like arguing, so we went.

I paid.

Does that constitute an actual date?

Help me out here, Kelly. You're a woman…what the hell is Jules thinking here?


	2. Chapter 2

**August 29**

Damn it!

Lassie broke the case wide open. He made an arrest about an hour ago.

He did it! How the hell did he do it?!

And that's not even the worst part! The broken vase…it meant nothing! NOTHING! I wasn't even close! I was just wrong! As wrong as Lassie usually is!

Oh, God. I've become Lassie.

I should just buy a collar and dog bowl and call it a day.

**August 30**

I can't believe he cracked the case.

It's been twenty-four hours, and I still can't believe he cracked the damn case!

Lassie won.

I give up.

**August 31**

I know what's wrong with me!

I haven't slept in forty-eight hours and I spent all day watching X-Files on DVD….but I finally figured it out! It's a bit complicated, Kelly, but try to keep up.

Lassie is an alien, and he's using his Mind Death Ray to screw with me!

Think about it! It explains everything! His red eyes in every picture…his unnatural eyebrows…those sideburns…the non-existent sense of humor. Not to mention the nutmeg allergy! I mean, who the hell is allergic to nutmeg?

I think I'm on to something.

**September 1**

I must be in bad shape.

My dad actually came by today to make sure I was still alive.

I didn't let him in. Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't pick my lock and let himself in.

I forgot the man could pick a good lock.

He was his usual jolly self.

"Shawn, what the hell are you doing? What is this? A pity party? Take a damn shower and get your ass back to work."

That part I was expecting. I always hear that part.

But I wasn't expecting what came next.

He sat down next to me.

"What the hell is your problem? You think you're the only person who's ever blown a case before? You think you're the only person who's ever missed something? You're human, Shawn. I hate to be the one to break that to you. You're not perfect."

"I'm aware of that, thank you, Dad. You never let me forget it." I snapped back.

"You still don't get it, do you, Kid? I don't care that you're not perfect. Hell, if I had a nickel for every case I screwed up on the force…not being perfect isn't the problem, Shawn. It's never been the problem. The problem is that you never own up to it. The problem is that when you're confronted with your imperfections, you run. Or make excuses. Or quit. The truth is, you've never needed me to tell you how good you are. You tell yourself that enough as it is. You know you're good. What you don't know, what you need me to remind you of occasionally, is that you're also human. So, again, take a damn shower and get your ass back to work. Because, Shawn. You're good, Kid. Too good to quit like this."

Then he left. Just like that. Not another word.

Forget Lassie being an alien. I think aliens kidnapped my dad!


	3. Chapter 3

**September 2**

Dude! Gus is a genius! I knew there was a reason I kept him around, apart from his encyclopedic knowledge of stuff no one else cares about.

He came over to make sure I left the apartment today, and when I told him about Lassie and the case he asked the most obvious, brilliant question ever.

"Since when does Lassiter making an arrest mean the case is solved? Lassie always gets the wrong guy. What makes you think this time is any different?"

Of course! Why didn't I think of that?! Lassie got the wrong guy!

I'm back on the case again….again!

I didn't call Jules today. Or yesterday. I feel kinda guilty.

Is that weird?

**September 3**

I spent all day at Psych, going over all the crime scene photos again. So far, I can't find anything to make me think Lassie has the wrong guy. It seems pretty straight forward.

From what Jules said (I called her today to assuage my guilt…) they busted some local crackhead who has a history of burglary to support his habit. He even assaulted a guy once. It's not a stretch to think he's capable of murder. He has no alibi for the time of the murder, he was seen near the building, and he had some of the stolen items. Seems like a slam dunk.

Damn.

Maybe Lassie did win this one after all.

By the way, the use of the word assuage was brought to you by the Word of the Day calendar Gus got me for Christmas.

I guess it's not such a sucky gift after all.

**September 4**

Okay, Doc. Since you're reading this and since you were there, I don't have to tell you that you were mean today.

Just because I skipped a week of sessions and didn't tell you.

Or return your phone calls.

You didn't have to get snippy.

You also didn't want to talk about my dad. You just wanted to talk about me. What's up with that? When do I start blaming my parents?

**September 5**

I ran the case past Dad. He can't find anything, either.

Did Lassie really win this one?

He thought the broken vase was a dead end, but there's still something about it I can't let go of.


	4. Chapter 4

**September 6**

Okay…well, I guess this our last chat, Kelly. The Doc said I don't have to keep a journal anymore.

I think my previous entries scared him.

In a weird way, I'm kinda going to miss you.

Especially your blonde hair. And the way you always know the right thing to say.

**September 9**

What can I say? I tried to stay away, Kelly. I just couldn't do it.

I think I'm in love with you.

Okay, so not really. Sorry. That was just mean.

Jules has been coming over a lot the last few days. She's looking over the case with me again and again and again. She thinks Lassie got the right guy for once. I'm still not convinced, but for the life of me I can't figure out why.

**September 10**

Okay…this is really hard for me, Kelly.

But I think you know what I'm going to say. This has been a long time coming.

I think we should see other people.

Specifically, I think I should see Jules.

I kind of like her.

_Like _her like her.

But I hope we can still be friends…

Can we? Yes? Good!

Then, as my friend…I need help.

The problem is Jules. I can't lie to her.

Well, I don't mean I can't lie to her _at all_. I lie to her all the time….but I can't lie to her about me. I can't lie to her about who I am. I can't keep pretending to be a psychic. Not if I really like her, not if I really want to be with her. I have to tell her the truth.

I just can't do that. Not yet. I'm not ready to give up being a psychic detective.

So there I am. At an impasse, as Gus would say.

Or so it would seem.

This is where you come in…

What the hell am I supposed to do?

**September 10**

I was thinking about Jules last night. All night. I didn't sleep; but in a good way, I think.

I was trying to remember her eyes. I haven't been able to remember anything for so long that I didn't think I could.

But somehow, I did.

I closed my eyes…and I could see them, clear as day.

Blue. Clear. Perpetually smiling. The left one has three small flecks of green, barely noticeable unless she happens to be wearing green that brings them out.

It wasn't a big deal, and it took me about an hour longer than it should have to remember.

But I remembered.

I just can't tell her I remembered. I can't tell her anything about this.


	5. Chapter 5

**September 11**

I'm thinking clearer today. It isn't much clearer, and I don't know why…but I could remember most of the hats at the diner. Not all of them, but still. That's gotta be a good sign.

Maybe Lassie's Mind Death Ray is on the fritz.

I couldn't tell Jules. I'm avoiding her. (That doesn't sound quite so pathetic if you just pretend that I'm in Junior High. That's what I'm doing, at least.)

Gus sounded relieved when I told him.

He also sounded mad that I burst into the middle of one his drug selling meetings and told everybody he had to leave because Mrs. Pickles ran away.

But mostly, he sounded relieved.

**September 12**

I went back to the station for the first time in weeks. I couldn't help myself. I had to go.

I finally did it.

I solved the case.

Lassie was right, but he did miss something.

The vase.

I couldn't figure out why it was bothering me. But it struck me last night.

The vase didn't match the living room, where the murder had taken place and where it was found next to the bodies. In fact, it clashed with the whole décor.

But it matched perfectly with the kitchen.

So it had been in the kitchen originally.

But the struggle hadn't been in the kitchen. The victims hadn't made it that far. They were killed right in front of the door. That means the killer must have brought it with him out of the kitchen when he heard the door opening. But why? He had a knife. He didn't need to bring a weapon. He wouldn't have stopped to pick it up.

He must have already been holding it.

It wasn't valuable. It wasn't worth stealing.

Unless he knew it had drugs in it.

The guy was a crackhead. He was always hanging around that neighborhood, he'd been seen in the building before. They were his dealers! He was trying to rip them off, but they came home and surprised him with his hand in the cookie jar...almost literally. The cops assumed the traces of drugs they'd found at the scene were from the killer. But they were from the Spanenbergs!

I had a psychic vision, my first in what feels like eternity. It felt good to see that look of pissed-off wonder on Lassie's face again. It only hit three shades of red, though. Hardly a record.

"So, basically…you're telling me I got the right guy?" He asked when I finished.

"Yeah."

"I got…the right guy?"

He sounded almost as surprised as me.

"Yeah. You got the right guy. But that's not the point."

"What is the point, Spencer?"

"The point is that I _know_ you got the right guy."

Silly Lassie. He still didn't get it.

I didn't tell him about my alien theory.

**September 15**

Jules knows I'm avoiding her.

She doesn't know why, but she knows.

I just don't know what else to do.

She left a message today. Something about going undercover in some kind of stolen jewelry sting. She didn't leave a lot of details. Gus doesn't want any part of it…but I don't know.

It could be fun.

_Author's Note_

_Okay, as I was writing this last chapter, it occurred to me that this story is a perfect prequel to another fic I wrote a while back, called STOP!...IN THE NAME OF LOVE. To understand this last entry, you'll have to read that one. I didn't post it here, however, so I included it below for you. _

_**Stop! In the Name of…Love??**_

The little bell over the door rang. Two young people walked in; a woman and a man.

_Great, that's all I need now, _thought Mr. Henshaw, putting down his Suduko book and plastering on the fake, "I'm-so-happy-for-you" smile he always wore. Another couple looking for an engagement ring.

"Hi!" The young man was greeting him, grinning from ear to ear.

"Hello. What can I help you find today?"

"Well, my name is Neville von Trappthehillsarealive, and my beautiful girlfriend…I'm sorry, I did it again, honey…my beautiful fiancé… and I would like to look at rings."

"Of course, Mr…what was it again?"

"Von Trappthehillsarealive. Neville von Trappthehillsarealive."

"Mr…von Trappthehillsarealive. If you look over here we have a lovely selection…"

Mr. Henderson began to walk to the display case with the most expensive rings. This guy seemed the type who'd be sold on the biggest diamond in the store.

"I tell you, it wasn't easy to hook this one," Neville continued as they strolled towards the case, laughing and locking the girl in a playful headlock. "Not with a last name like that. But then I said to her, I said, Baklava…that's her name, you know. Her parents were huge Middle Eastern pastry fans. Anyway, I said Baklava, you have a strange name. I have a strange name. What do you say? Let's just do this! Will you please become Mrs. Baklava von Trappthehillsarealive?...And she said yes."

Neville paused for a moment to wipe a tear from his eyes. He sniffed loudly.

The girl…Baklava?...rolled her eyes. Then, she smiled.

"Oh, be fair now, dear." She said, patting his chest. "If you're going to tell the story, tell the whole story."

"The whole story? What did I leave out?" Neville looked confused, and somewhat hurt.

"What did you leave out? Neville! How about the months and months of begging, pleading, bargaining and bribery that it took before I would even go on a date with you? Honestly, I've never seen anything so pathetic. He would cry almost every day, Mr. Henshaw. Finally, I said I would go out with him because I felt sorry for him."

"I thought it was my charm and animal magnetism."

"No. No, it was pity."

"Oh, well. It doesn't matter because it all worked out in the end."

Baklava smiled and began to browse the tray of rings Mr. Henshaw set out.

Neville leaned in close to Mr. Henshaw, whispering.

"My friend, Adam Clark, told me your store has a…special selection of rings? Of…really inexpensive rings? That aren't for sale to the general public?"

Mr. Henshaw glanced around. The girl was busy. There were no other customers. He nodded and discreetly took a tray out from a hidden compartment beneath the counter.

Neville looked through the rings, picking them up and examining them one by one.

"Oh, yeah…honey? This is what we're looking for!" He called.

"Really?" She walked back over.

"Oh, yeah," she agreed after looking them over herself.

"Do you like them?" Mr. Henderson asked.

She never got to answer the question, because at that moment the door flung open and cops swarmed the store.

"Good work, Shawn." Jules smiled as Mr. Henshaw was driven off in a squad car.

"You, too, Baklava." Shawn grinned back.

"Yeah. Thanks for the last-second switch, by the way. We agreed on Jill Smith."

"That just sounded so fake."

"More fake than Neville von Trappthehillsarealive?"

"It didn't roll off the tongue in the same way."

Despite herself, Juliet had to laugh. Shawn could always make her laugh. She smiled again and turned to leave the store.

"Hey, Jules!" Shawn called. She turned again.

"What?"

Shawn glanced around, then deftly tossed her a ring off the tray of stolen merchandise.

"Keep it. As a memento."

"Shawn! It's stolen. It's evidence now."

She tossed it back.

"They'll never miss it!"

He tossed it back to her again, harder this tiime.

"No!"

"Jules!"

"Shawn! Stop it."

Shawn exhaled loudly and stalked over to Juliet. He took her hand and placed the ring in it firmly.

"You're messing this all up, Jules."

"Messing what up?"

"You're...just supposed to take it."

"A stolen ring?"

His eyes met her.

"It's not stolen. I bought it a week ago."


End file.
